


Statement of Dirk Strider

by CipherCifear



Category: Homestuck, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Character Death, Child Abuse, Eye Trauma, Gen, Gore, Mentions of Starvation, Physical Abuse, Screenplay/Script Format, Spoilers, for season 3 and onward, magnus archives spoilers, mentions of child abuse, mentions of gore, or there about, sorta?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22823134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CipherCifear/pseuds/CipherCifear
Summary: Archivist: Statement of Dirk Strider, regarding the disappearance of his younger brother and subsequent death of his older brother. Statement given December 3rd--[THE AUDIO GLITCHES. THE YEAR IS NOT HEARD.]Audio recorded by Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.Statement begins.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 88





	Statement of Dirk Strider

**Author's Note:**

> First work posted in 2020 is something I wrote back in 2019 and never finished until now. NEAT.
> 
> Anyways.
> 
> So this was EATING at me to write.
> 
> Originally my idea just involved Bro and a puppet and then it spiral out of control the more I thought about it.
> 
> Here we are.
> 
> Light spoilers for Season 3 and onward.

_[INT. MAGNUS INSTITUTE, ARCHIVES, ARCHIVIST’S OFFICE]_

_[TAPE CLICKS ON.]_

**Archivist:** Statement of Dirk Strider, regarding the disappearance of his younger brother and subsequent death of his older brother. Statement given December 3rd--

_[THE AUDIO GLITCHES. THE YEAR IS NOT HEARD.]_

Audio recorded by Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.

Statement begins.

  
  


**DIRK STRIDER (STATEMENT)**

I've been thinking about how I should start this tale, because where you begin your story is just as important as the rest of it, more so if anything. The beginning gives you a foot hold, a starting point, something you can call back to and make the audience have one of those simple little "ah-ha!" moments. Makes them think they're clever when really they are not. They're just children following the yellow brick road, believing themselves lost in the forest-- unknowing that they've been safe and following the right trail all along.

It makes them feel good about themselves, you know?

I know there is no audience here to have such a 'eureka!' cliche but that will not dissuade me from weaving this narrative into something worth fucking listening to. 

I have three brothers. Had I should say.

It's complicated and I am jumping ahead. I’m giving you hints and building that yellow brick road I was talking about before.

I'm the second oldest, Dave is the middle child, and Bro, our guardian, the oldest. I don't know how old Bro is. Was. Never learned when he was born and he never told us. Dave is three years younger than I am.

And yes, his name is just Bro. If he had a full name he never divulged it to me or Dave. He probably had a full name, most people don’t come out of the womb nameless, even if they’re abandoned the nation will take them in and slap them with some crappy ‘John Doe’ or ‘Jonnathan Smith’.

Hmm? Did I touch a nerve there? You seem upset with my choice but really it’s your parents fault for naming you the fancier version of ‘John’ and the most basic English sounding name they could think of. 

Point is. Everyone has a name. Not just a nickname. Even Bro had one.

We just never knew it.

I’m rambling. Apologies. I tend to enjoy world building such tales, it is rare that I get to talk to anyone about… us. Bro always discouraged such things. Said people wouldn’t understand.

And on that he was correct. They wouldn’t have. But it still leaves one feeling a bit empty when they can not talk about who they are and where they come from.

Back to the brothers--

I know that's not three siblings, as I said I had, but we'll get to that in time. Gotta lay down the fucking golden brick work first, bro.

We didn't have parents. We never had parents. We did need them. We had each other.

Or rather. 

Dave had me.

Bro wasn't what many would call a… good role model. He never spoke and rarely was ever actually around unless it was to train us.

He never told us what he was preparing us for, never let so much as a hint slip from his ever closed lips. He just said "You're too weak." And that was that.

He loved puppets though. He ran a website were we sold these brightly colored smuppets with long noses used for--

Well.

I'll keep this safe for work and just leave it at 'they vibrated'.

It was a hobby that he sometimes earned extra cash from time to time. Great craftsmanship though. Shit was top tier, no, god tier smuppet naughtiness. 

They were littered all over the apartment, some parts left unfinished and other fully commissioned pieces just laying across the back of the futon in the middle of the living room where Bro slept.

We lived in a two bedroom apartment but Bro used the spare bedroom for his work station and computer. He didn't sleep in it ever. Dave and I were not allowed inside and growing up I never caught more than a handful of glimpses inside.

I was good at training. I excelled at it. Light on my feet, quick with a blade; I even passed all the little mind games he put us through. Like hiding food and limiting the water supplies. I was a fucking pro at it all.

And I think that was because Bro and I are rather similar. Not just in our looks but also in the way we think. If I ever wanted food I would just have to sit there and think "where would Bro put it and thus, where would I have hidden it?"

I'd often be right on my first guess. It never took more than two tries to crack his little puzzles.

Dave however…

He made mistakes. I often had to share what things I could scavenge or lose a few hours of sleep practicing the blade with him, I never minded helping him keep pace, but Bro never liked it.

He tolerated it when we were children. Then when I was 9 and Dave was 6, he stopped tolerating it.

He started to train Dave by himself and I was not allowed to interfere. 

I tried to help but Bro always knew when I did and made sure to punish Dave for any aid I would give him. In my childish and naive mind I thought I knew him well enough to find a loophole. Were I older I most likely could have dancer circles around him. Kept my brother safe.

But shockingly a 9 year old, even a very intelligent one, can not match the speed, quick thinking, and power of an adult.

Bro caught me and he made SURE I never interfered with his 'training' of Dave again.

I'm not going to go into details. Suffice to say Dave stayed away from me after that, rejected all my attempts to help, and even ignored my presence entirely.

Then one day, it was on my 12th birthday and Dave's 9th, we all shared a birthday, Bro brought home a new Strider.

He had bright red eyes like Dave but his hair was unnaturally white, skin so pale it could be mistaken for paper. He must have been about 3 years old and Bro carried him into the house like a wine drunk soccer mom bringing in the groceries.

He told me the baby's name was "Hal" and practically tossed the kid at me, then took Dave up to the roof to strife.

And I was left alone with this infant. A new brother.

At first I wanted nothing to do with him. Despite his coloring it was clear whoever our biological parents were, he got the exact same genes Bro and I received. Outside the eye color he and Dave looked nothing alike. This baby, Hal, would grow up to be another look alike of myself and Bro. Only a few shades off. Like the ink machine ran out of fucking toner and tried to make due with the shitty grays, whites, and black shades it had left.

I was about to set him down on the couch, let him fend for himself and grab an orange soda, when our eyes met.

It was like looking into a mirror. A copy of what I saw every time I glanced at my reflection. The same intelligence. The same depth. But even then I could see that there was something missing. 

Not in the, lacking a soul bullshit sort of way, no, nothing so passe, just… some basic ass human emotion I couldn't pin down because gauging the emotional depth of a toddler is fucking hard.

But I knew.

I knew right then that Bro wasn't going to get this one. He had already taken Dave and tore my brother away from me, turned his love to fear and made it so he could never look me in the fucking eye without shaking ever so slightly. He thinks I don't notice but I do. I always do…

But not Hal.

Hal was going to be mine to raise.

And I told Bro this. 

When Dave came downstairs with a limp and a split lip I shoved Hal into his arms, took up my blade, and went upstairs to face him down.

I don't know what I was thinking.

That I was some grand hero? I was 12, and badass as I am, and was, I barely came up to dick sucking level on Bro. The fucking katana was longer then my damn arm. 

But statements speak volumes to my older brother and I was placing all my chips down on the show being enough to make him back off.

We stood up there on the rooftop. The sun beating down on us. And he stared at me. I stared back, the sweat running down my neck and the sun cooking us both alive. Then he nodded his head.

And he left without a word. Just like he always did.

I hadn't even asked, hadn't even gotten my demand out, but Bro knew why I was up there. Bro and I, we think alike. If it weren't for the age difference I could have been his clone. Only younger and with more emotions. Not that I express them often.

Yes, me, emotional. A surprise I know. I’ve seen you watching me Archivist, concerned that throughout this entire story my expression hasn’t once changed despite my tone, but compared to my older brother I am Jim Fucking Carrey.

So I raised Hal.

I taught him English through Wikipedia and dictionary's stolen from public libraries. Instructed him on math and the great art of the blade. 

He picked all up even quicker than I had. A child teaching a child and yet every lesson I set for him he did with utter efficiency and perfection that I began to LOATHE.

Because as he aged the more and more he began to look like me. Like Bro. And the older he became, the more he began to talk back and push boundaries.

He always completed the tasks I set for him, because if he wasn't up to a certain standard Bro would take him away from me just like he had with Dave, but he started to gloat. 

By the time he was 6 and I was turning 16, he would often argue with me. With Dave. With Bro. With anyone he could show off his intelligence to. 

Dave wasn't a challenge for him though. My brother, so beaten down by our guardian, would just take it and make ironic comebacks that hit far too close to home but he’d never would admit to. 

Bro was also hard to goad as he simply wasn't around enough to poke and prod at. Not to mention he found the best way to handle Hal's attitude was simply to leave or by "forgetting" to replace the food stocks in our tiny two bedroom apartment.

Starving us because of Hal's bratty mouth.

Hal quickly stopped doing that and so I became the sole focus of his outbursts.

I think he was just bored really.

It was becoming clear that he would soon outpace me, his intelligence, loathed as I am to admit this, far exceeded my own and he constantly lorded that over me. That he was better than me. That despite how similar we looked and acted, he was better because he didn't let silly things like emotions get in the way of things.

Something I still… lack control over to this day.

Now. By no means was Hal cruel. He was just too smart for his own good and lacked the understanding that his failures would blow back onto Dave and I. Food being taken away affected him. Beatings on Dave and I did not.

Some nights. 

I hate to admit this now, given what happened, but I won't pretend I'm some perfect virginal straight saint, on my hands and knees for the Lord, waiting for him to cum shot me in the mouth and tell me how I've been saved-- no. I’m no Mary Magdalene, prostitute saint that she is.

I'm not going to do that.

I am far from being a good person. I know that. And I have learned to make peace with that part of me.

But some nights, I REALLY wanted to sew his mouth shut. Have his bright red eyes looking up at me in fear, knowing that he miscalculated and over stepped, and that his life was in the palm of my hand.

I never did. But I think I would have if not for that fateful night.

It was Hal's 13th birthday when it happened.

I woke up in the room Dave, Hal and I shared; and noticed that my youngest brother wasn't in his bed. I checked the time and noticed the clock read 4:13 am. Far too early for any reasonable person to be awake and Bro never expected us out of bed till at the earliest 8 am. 

I figured my little brother had gotten up to take a piss and would return shortly.

When I awoke at 8 am, on the dot, I noticed that Hal's bed was still empty. Dave slept soundly on his mattress, never able to wake up before 10, despite all of Bro's training.

That's when the concern began to grow. Hal always returned to bed, as leaving the room after hours for anything more than a wiz was practically asking our older Bro to beat you down into submission. 

I got up and went to go look for him, avoiding the traps and smuppets littered around our apartment.

All the lights were off, leaving the small cheap space feeling cramped and darker than it actually should have been given the time of day. My first instinct was to check the couch, know where our guardian was and what sort of mood he was in, but to no surprise I found the futon empty. Bro had always risen before us. Nothing odd there.

But Hal wasn't there either.

Upon inspecting the kitchen I found a note from Bro. Printed in grey text onto white paper and left on the fridge to be found whenever, at anyone's convenience, or to be forgotten about and never once glanced at, it read: "Hal is sick. Took him to be repaired."

Repaired.

Not, took him to the doctors, or to be cured, or any other way of phrasing a normal person would use to say 'fix' or ‘help’.

No.

My older brother used the word 'repair'. Like he was some sort of toy that had broken apart and needed to be glued back together piece by piece.

….

That was a poor metaphor, excuse my pause I needed a moment to… control myself.

This story is getting long and I can sense your mind drifting, already wanting to focus on someone else's pain, someone else's tale for you twist into your little midnight snacks that you gorge yourself upon when no one is looking.

Yes Archivist I know about you. I know about this place. I know a lot of things now that I once didn’t.

I'll skip ahead a week because nothing of interest happened during that time. Bro ignored my inquiries, Dave awkwardly accepted his birthday present from me, the gift I got for Hal went ungiven, and I was left alone. 

I hadn't noticed how little human interaction I got from Hal until he was gone. Hadn't noticed that Dave actively avoided talking and looking at me. I didn’t notice till then that he was the only one I could actively talk to in that apartment and suddenly I YEARNED for those annoying conversations because Bro ignored my entire existence. 

  
  


I don't think he could train me anymore. I was too much like him. You can't improve upon perfection. Or maybe he just didn't want to be around someone who looked like his clone but fell short just enough to lack that spark of interest.

I like being alone well enough but no one likes being ignored in their own home. Hal made sure I never was ignored at least. Maybe that was why he always tried to bother me.. 

Hal did not reappear. 

When the sixth day had passed and our brother still had not returned even Dave was starting to get antsy. 

The peace that we had so carefully built in that tiny oppressive state was starting to break and shatter the longer our little brother was away.

On the seventh day I had enough. I needed to know where Hal was. I had to be there with him. I was alone and I desperately discovered how pathetically codependent I was on him, to the point that I would bang upon my brothers workshop door, screaming at him to give my brother back.

Dave hid in his room to avoid the fall out from my rash actions.

But Bro never came out. 

A note slipped under the door that said "Busy working." and that was all I was given. A single note and no answers.

Fine.

If Bro wanted to play it that way then I would just make my own rules and smash his to bits and pieces. It was my turn to be the game master and my brother could sit back and deal with me moving his precious pieces across the board as I saw fit.

I wanted until he left the apartment. I subtly watched that door, never letting it leave mine or Dave's sight, if I had to step out of the room or apartment for whatever reason. I waited and waited for my moment to strike.

Which came when he went on another food run for us.

He locked the door to his workshop, locked the front door, and Dave and I were left alone in an apartment building that stank of hot air, Cheetos, felt, and sweat.

Dave once again, went to his room, wanting no part of my plan. And I didn't want him to be apart of it either. Not because I thought he'd ruin it, no, I'm sure he could have been immensely helpful in the grand scheme of things, I just didn't want him to be hurt any further because of me.

I had intended to pick the lock but after several failed attempts I gave up and simply smashed the lock to pieces with the butt of my katana.

I don't know what I expected to find in there; my hope was that on his computer he had some record of where he had checked Hal into. Credit card statements, emails, bills, any sort of lead as to where he could be.

My blood was pumping loudly in my ears, beating like a war drum as I pushed open the door and stepped in. There was no use for subtly now that the lock was broken. 

The moment my foot hit the ground a sense of… wrongness washed over me.

The room was too cold.

The whole apartment has central air but Bro was too cheap to ever turn it on for long.

Yet this room was like an ice box. I could see my breath before my very eyes and as I proceeded inside. 

The lights were off and having never been in the room before I had to fumble about blindly to find the light switch. It should have been odd to me that none of the light from the living room reached in there, I should have noticed that out of place detail, the world doesn’t work like that you know, or rather, that's how I used to think, but I didn’t notice.

I tripped over something and nearly fell on my face, ungraceful as that is to admit, but I walked into that room with my shades on and that only made the darkness darker. Even if I had taken them off, which I don’t do unless necessary, I still wouldn’t have been able to see my own fucking hand slapping me in the face.

I caught myself on a desk and the jostling of it awoke the monitor.

Bright while light hit my eyes and suddenly I was glad for my shades. It made the surprise sting less.

The first thing I noticed was that the computer desk was an utter pig sty. Neither me nor my older brother are the cleanest people around but the bit of wiring, scrap fabric, pale almost white leather, rusted tools, and potato chips were all so haphazardly scattered across the keyboard that I wanted to wait for him right there and shove his face into the mess, screaming at him to clean it up.

Then my eyes caught sight of his shades.

They were identical to mine. Cool slick anime shades that could poke out an eye if you weren’t careful where you swung your head when making out with someone, or comforting a younger brother.

Dave wore aviators but Bro, Hal, and I all wore the same style though in different sizes.

When I looked at them closer I noticed they actually had text on them.

I couldn’t read what it was in that shit ass lighting so I picked up the shades to see what Bro had decaled them with. Probably one of his rap lyrics or something ironic, and to my shock I saw that they were moving. Scrolling across the shades like college kid high on Ritalin and three cups of coffee desperately trying to finish their thesis hours before the big deadline.

It was too hard to read just holding them in front of the monitor so I swapped the shades out for my own, settling the larger cool anime style frames on my nose and I was startled by how… warm it was.

Not warm like a processor working over time to pump out this text, no, but like the warmth of someone when you hug them. When you hold someone's hand or sleep beside them. It’s an odd sensation, having something plastic-glass like resting on the bridge of your nose but it feels like a human is touching you. 

My brain really didn’t like the sensation and it gave me quite the headache at first.

I was so distracted and dizzy I had forgotten to read the words now frantically racing across the frames. Looking at the bright red text made the feeling worse. Like someone was trying to take a messenger chat and shoved it straight into my brain instead of letting my eyes read it.

But I’ve always been stubborn and after gods know how long I finally pushed past the pain to read what was being so rudely thrown at my consciousness.

It said “\- You finally bothered to come looking for me, how long have I had to sit in this painful existent, racked with the agony of not being who I was, knowing everything of every second what was going on around me. That you and Dave didn’t bother to look for me until 170 hours, 5 minutes, and 30 seconds had passed that you bothered to summon up what you pathetic humans call a spine and pretend like you cared about my disappearance. If you cared you would have started bothering him on the 3rd day, and I’m being generous giving you that extra time, I know how you like to sit on things and wait it out. And that’s more than fair really, I’d have waited at least 3 days too if it had been you who had gone missing, but over seven days Dirk? Really? That's just cold-”

And it kept going.

It didn’t stop.

The text kept accusing me of not coming sooner, of not caring for it, saying I that I had always been jealous of it, that it didn’t need to be trapped in that form to know that much.

I’m not stupid Archivist.

I knew at once who was talking to me as I’m sure you have pieced together as well.

That didn’t make the revelation any less startling.

I tore the shades off my face with such force that I stepped back, tripped on whatever it was that I had stumbled over before, and fell back onto my ass.

Only now there was light from the monitor and I could see what it was I had just tripped over.

There was my baby brother Hal, lying prone and motionless on the floor.

The red text was still scrawling madly across the screen but now I ignored it in favor of trying to rouse my brother out of whatever state he was in. To make him stop using that dumb chat client, for that was what I thought it was, and just talk to me.

I screamed his name. Shook his body.

And he felt… WRONG.

Hal had always been small, light of mass, not because of never getting enough to eat, no, Hal had just had a small build.

But this…

This was too light.

His body was too limp in my arms.

And his eyes…

Those bright red eyes that once reminded me so much of Dave’s… they were now glass. Not glassed over like a dead man. Literal glass eyes that caught the monitor light and shone empty as a dolls in a toy store window.

The red text, Hal, was still trying to talk to me and I just could not focus on it.

All I could see were those empty eyes and without thought I reached out and pushed my finger between glass and eyelid, wormed my long finger behind and popped it right out with so little effort I almost threw up on the spot.

And in that empty spot I could see the stitch marks keeping the socket closed off to his nerves and brain. To all that messy goop that should be behind an eye.

I dropped the glass orb and tore at the stitching. Ripped it apart in a mad fury, hoping to find my brothers real eyes behind the sewn together flesh.

Instead I found cotton.

The white fluff you put into dolls to make them more hugable and sturdy.

The white fluff in Bro’s smuppets…

I dropped his body with a horrified scream, scrambling away from what had once been my brother's body.

I could hear Dave come running to the door and I grabbed it before he could reach it and slammed it shut. I couldn’t let him see that. I stood on the other side, trapped in that too cold room with the desecrated corpse of my brother and those too warm shades that kept trying to message me, and I held my weight against the door as Dave tried to get in.

But I couldn’t let him. 

Do you know what that would have done to him? Dave who was the weakest of us all, Dave who Bro picked to ‘teach’ himself, Dave who would have taken one look at that mutilated body of what had been the ‘perfect’ Strider and could only IMAGINE would that would mean for a ‘failure’ like him?

He’d never stop thinking about if I had let him see.

He might even blame himself for Hals…. Condition.

Dave didn’t need that on his shoulders.

So I told him to go back to his room, to pack up all our important shit, all the food we could carry, and wait for me by the bus stop on the edge of town. The furthest one away from the apartment he could find.

He kept trying to push open the door and I SCREAMED at him to listen to me. Begged him to listen to me.

I’m not sure what made actually follow my orders, if it was the yelling or how I sounded like I was on the brink of breaking down.

I think I was crying then.

I’m not sure.

All I remember is holding that door in place for a long time. Must have been over an hour. Only when I thought he had left did I pull away and return to Hals-- the puppets body and the shades.

Now that I actually looked at the body I could see Bro’s handiwork all over.

He never was that good with his needle work. Putting things together and designing them he was a master of, but his actual thread work lacked some gentleness to it. Which fits I suppose. Nothing about Bro was gentle.

I picked up the shades and left the body alone.

What?

Don’t look at me like that Archivist, it wasn’t Hal anymore and even if it was how could I have taken him with me? Carried a human looking corpse down the road? Yes that wouldn’t turn heads at all.

We both know that whatever my Bro had done to him was no longer reversible. That body was just an empty husk Bro had pulled all the bits out of and stuffed up to the brim with snow colored fluff in a freezing cold room that now suddenly made sense. I didn’t want to look around to see what else the monitor light would show me. I’m sure it wouldn’t have been pleasant.

Either way they still hurt my brain to wear but I pushed past it this time.

The shades, Hal, were no longer messaging me and for a moment I panicked that tearing up his corpse had actually done something to him--

And then the text returned.

He had just stopped ‘talking’ when Dave had come.

I can not describe the relief that washed over me when I saw that bright red text fly across the screen. Hal was still there. He was still with me.

I was so happy I had forgotten to actually comprehend what he was trying to tell me and just barely managed to read the words “ Hide\--” before I heard the door unlocking.

My blood froze and I didn’t move.

Hal was ‘screaming’ at me to do as I was told, the words flooding my vision and filling my brain, and the pain of it all was blinding.

But it was the kick I needed to get going.

I vaulted onto the desk, tore off one of the ceiling tiles, and yanked myself up into walls, feet kicking at the computer screen and wall to get up and into the small cramped darkness just as the door opened. 

I slid the tile back into place and held my breath.

I couldn’t hear much up there, it was all muffled, but I heard the sound of groceries being dropped to the ground and Bro slamming the door shut in a rage. You could easily see the damage I had done to the door from where he would have stood. He knew someone had gotten in.

And then Hal gave me a play by play of what was going on below me.

Described in terrifying detail of how Bro calmly walked into his office and looked around. Saw his, Hal’s, body with a torn up eye socket and picked it up more lovingly then he ever had with one of us. Then he had with Hal when he was a baby. How he seemed to love this mockery of his child more then the actual thing and way his lips twisted in anger when he saw the damage I had done to it. How he set the corpse puppet down gently and then started to tear apart the apartment looking for either Dave or myself.

I could hear the destruction from my hiding place.

He smashed the turntables he had gotten Dave and I as Christmas gift one year and I flinched at their loss.

So long sweet music makers.

You died too young as the great always do.

…

When he found nothing he came back into his ‘office’, Hal described to me the anger on his face and how it changed to murderous when he finally noticed those shades were gone, replaced by my own slightly smaller pair sitting where his had once belonged.

Hal told me how he snatched them up and looked ready to snap them when he suddenly stopped.

He stopped and instead gently slid them onto the collar of his shirt.

Like he was saving them.

And I wanted to scream then.

Because I told you how much Bro and I think alike, described how easy it was to just settle into his way of thinking and understand his cold unspoken logic?

He was saving them. I knew that. Because I knew how he thought. 

He was saving them for me.

To make me into what Hal had become when he got his hands around my neck and snapped it with a sickening smile on his face after drawing out hours of torture as punishment for disobeying him.

I covered my mouth to stop any sound from escaping. Bit my lip so hard it bled.

The pain was grounding.

So was the red text.

Hal was… actually trying to help. In his own way, of course, but nonetheless his words distracted me from the cold reality down below.

I’m not going to tell you about what he said to me.

That’s private and frankly, not part of this little session. I’m sure you could pull it out of me if you cared enough to but I would fight you ever step of the way, feeding you false words and misdirection as bit by bit you yanked the truth out of my very existence. 

But you don’t want to do that do you? You’re a better person then I am. Then Hal was. Than my Bro was.

You won't do that unless I try to stop this statement, which I am not, so you’ll let this slide. It’s not like you or your entity needs to know about the good parts of the story much now does it?

You have that look on your face again Archivist, surprise and confusion. Is it because I know so much about you and this place? It’s to be expected, I wouldn’t come here and offer you my statement without learning all that I could first.

But again. I am getting ahead of the story.

Let's continue on shall we?

When Hal had finally managed to calm me down he informed me, in less detail then before thankfully, that Bro had taken his body, the puppet corpse, and fled the apartment, most likely looking for either Dave or myself. 

I’m sure he would have settled with either.

Finding Dave first would bring me to him willingly. He knew how much I cared for him.

Finding me first would be just as good for him. He could find Dave later after… ‘fixing’ me like he had Hal.

I didn’t come down from my hiding spot until Hal gave me the all clear.

The ‘work space’ looked even worse now. It seemed he had tried to look in here too for me and now I could see the red bits from thrown plastic bags, ripped open and splattered across the ground. The room now reeked of iron and gore, a smell that over takes one in such a small space, and that's all you can feel. That blood. The wetness of it. 

I did my best to step around it all but Bro had really made a mess of the place.

I very much did step in some of it and had to change my shoes before fleeing that place.

I was not going to leave a bloody trail to Dave and I. This isn’t Hansel and fucking Gretel, there's no tricking the evil witch into the fire if I got us caught.

I found Dave at the bus stop and at Hal’s suggestion bought us tickets to Oldham, far, far away from the city we once lived in.

We’ve been on the run ever since. I’d say it's tiring but when you’re always one step ahead of your tormentor and former brother it becomes quite easy.

**Archivist:** Did you ever tell your brother the truth? 

**Dirk:** No. I didn’t.

I told him that Bro had done something to him and left it had that. Hal agreed with this as he didn’t want Dave finding out what had happened to him either. We both knew the damage it could do and Hal’s own ego wouldn’t let him be brought down so low.

**Archivist:** And Hal… What happened to-

  
  


_[ LAUGHTER. THE AUDIO GLITCHES FOR A MOMENT. IT SOUNDS ALMOST LIKE TWO VOICES. ]_

  
  


**Dirk:** Archivist, I KNOW you are not that stupid and blind. You know what happened to Hal. 

He’s sitting right here on my face. 

Watching this whole conversation. Evening adding in bits or correcting my story when he finds it suits him. 

He made me be VERY honest with you about how I felt-- feel-- about him. I don’t think I have it in me to deny him that right now. I owe Hal that much at least.

**Archivist:** But surely you must know the pain he’s in like… like that. 

**Dirk:** … I am well aware of that fact Mr. Sims. He never shuts up about the agony of his existence give than chance-- Oh look at that. He’s talking about it right now.

Do you wish me to dictate to you what he’s saying? Or do you already know what he’s ‘typing’ out?

_[ A PAINED GRUNT IS HEARD FROM THE ARCHIVIST ]_

**Archivist:** No, no. That’s quite alright.

Thank you Hal, for you…. Input.

**Dirk:** He can be a bit much at times. We’re a lot alike in that manner. Problems silencing ourselves once we get going, though he is a more straightforward in his cruel remarks then I am. 

He prefers to be blunt. You’d think existing as something that will never grow old or age he’d be one of those stereotypical cryptic assholes, but as in life, he is as in shades. He finds the mystic thing cliche and bullshit, on which we both agree, not that it means he ever gets to the point. 

It’s turtles all the way down with him.

With us.

…. 

To be honest with you Archivist, I prefer him like this.

**Archivist:** Like… THAT?

**Dirk:** Yes.

Like this.

He’s... manageable in this current form. He doesn’t cause Dave or I problems any more and there is a small part of me that… enjoys his suffering.

….

Perhaps I am more like my big brother then I care to admit.

But Hal is useful to us like this. So long as Bro is alive we need Hal in this state of being to help us stay five steps ahead of him. Perhaps when Bro is dead and we’ll discuss the matter of his existence further but for now, he stays as is.

**Archivist:** And Hal is--

**Dirk:** He understands the arrangement.

My brother might lack some empathy, yes, and if the tables were turned and it was Hal who sat here before you and I rested upon the bridge of his nose like the sweet badass pair of anime shades he now is, I know that he would not free me. 

Never free me even.

He’s been VERY clear about that fact.

But we both love Dave.

We would do anything to keep him safe.

Even if that means suffering blistering agony of being something you are not, of being torn limb from limb and your consciousness stuff down into a pair of glasses, as your mind expands to have every bit of knowledge shoved into the cracks and corners of your mind to be forcefully called upon at will.

So I’d rather you not pass your judgement on me Archivist, not when you enjoy your little ‘snacks’ so much.

**Archivist:** How do you--

**Dirk:** I know what Hal knows. 

He’s always with me.

He never shuts up but that’s fine.

Both my brothers are safe with me now and I don’t intend to let either of them go any time soon. 

  
  


_[ THE SOUND OF PHONE FILLS THE ROOM. THE RINGTONE PLAYING IS AQUA’S “BARBIE GIRL” ]_

  
  


That would be Dave.

If you’ll excuse us Archivist we have to pick our brother up from school. I promised Dave we would go to Olive Garden for dinner. 

Kid loves his bread sticks.

Can’t say I blame him.

Have you ever had their endless pasta bowl?

**Archivist:** I… I can’t say that I have.

**Dirk:** You should. It’s no ‘statement’ but I’m sure those taste buds of yours still work, even if you don’t find the meal actually filling, at least it will be delicious. 

Who knows.

You might even find a special ‘treat’ there.

_[ THE TAPE CLICKS OFF ]_

_[ THE TAPE CLICKS BACK ON ]_

**Archivist:** Statement Ends.

….

After listening to this tape again I still can not conclude what entity the one known only as ‘Bro Strider’ is working for nor how he managed to create the Living Shades known as Hal Strider.

Given what he did to his youngest sibling, and the obsession with puppets- er correction- smuppets in general, one might believe that he is associated with The Stranger and their twisted little circus. 

But that might just be a personal preference for such things.

That is of course not to mention the fact that three of the four brothers are uncannily alike, according to Dirk.

Digging further into their history I managed to find a yearbook with photos that contained all three brothers.

Hal and Dirk do-- did-- look alike, almost identical. Though it as Mr. Strider described, however washed out was an unkind way to put having such fair toned skin.

The way Hal acts is more akin to…. I’m not sure… Its-- he’s-- like a Skin book, something tied to The End, but… clearly he is not a Skin Book. The ghosts trapped in those are never forced to answer you nor are they guaranteed to have all the knowledge you seek.

I could neither see nor hear Hal, though at times I did briefly glimpse flashes of red on Mr. Strider’s shades.

And there has never been anything stopping any of the hosts from using others preferred methods. Hal might be tied to The Eye….

….

I’m going in circles again.

….

I’ll come back to this later with a fresh mindset.

End Recording.

_[ CLICK ]_

**Author's Note:**

> Who do you think Bro Strider is a host to? What about Dirk? He seems to be a little less human then he once was.....
> 
> Leave a comment down below.
> 
> And remember to keep an eye out~


End file.
